Anderson's Angsty Woe
by KatieKatAnimelover
Summary: Deliberate BadAngstfic. Anderson has been hiding his dark past from those around him, but when a special date rolls around, will he be able to speak his woes? Why does he know German? Just who is Erland? Mycroft/Anderson because it's canon. Seriously.


A/N: Do you know those fics people write about the 'secret backstories' of characters? You how OTT angsty they sometimes get? This is a parody of that. Partly so that I can describe something as 'angst/humour', I'll admit.

So, I was thinking of Anderson with my sis one day, and this was born… I… I don't even know, really. Please note this is a DELIBERATE BADFIC. Obviously it's Mycroft/Anderson, because it's my OTP and is also canon. Seriously. I'm not even lying.

Warnings: OTT angst, OOC-ness on all parts, zombies.

Disclaimer: I own Sherlock as much as Anderson owns man points. Gosh, he's so ambiguously camp.

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"Anderson? Anderson? Are you here?" Mycroft Holmes's manly voice echoed slightly up the stairs of Anderson's dark house, reverberating off the dead potted plants and into the main bedroom where Anderson was currently laying in bed, a single sorrowful tear falling down his cheek as he stared into the distance, blanket clutched around his shoulders childishly.

Mycroft walked up the stairs, knocking softly on the door before opening it and walking in, not bothering to use the manners his mother had so lovingly given him in the light of his worry for his love.

Seeing that Anderson was upset, Mycroft walked over to him and put down his umbrella, embracing his boyfriend and asking what was wrong. In a distraught, chocking voice, Anderson spoke of his woes.

"Today… is the deathday of my late Norwegian wife Ailin. The day she was killed."

A gasp was heard from Mycroft.

"What happened to her?"

"My past is long and overly-angsty. Do you still want to hear it?"

"Anything for you."

FLASHBACK.

Hilary Anderson was born in 1971 in a ratty London backstreet, to a German father Mafia leader named Otto and a 28-year-old English mother. He had 8 elder brothers and sisters, most with embarrassing or German names. His father was a rapetruck, and as such was never around much. His mother was a prostitute, as were some of his 8 elder siblings. It was a depressing life for one so young to live, alone in the dark, dark house for hours on end; until someone remembered the boy existed. Hilary just wandered around most of the time, angsting. Whilst his father was in the house, he mostly spoke German, so Hilary quickly picked up on the language.

Hilary and his siblings were never allowed to go to school, except the eldest twins, Barbie and Mother Titties, and later on, the second eldest, Roderich-Ludwig the third. Because of this, Hilary didn't get out much, and got very pale skin. Whenever he was outside, people thought he'd start *~Sparkling~* like a fucking Meyerpire. The author would like to point out that this is a reference to her burning hate for the Twilight series, and she will now stop breaking the fourth wall.

When Hilary was 13, his mother got many STIs, as did his father and many of his siblings. Not wanting to stick around to watch his family perish before his young, not-so-innocent eyes, Hilary ran away and was found by a nice, half-blind albino man from Norway named Erlend.

Hilary Anderson had many fun years with Erland, learning how to love again and how to trust. He went to school, was beaten up by bullies, and even played football with his new father. For the first time ever, Hilary was happy. He was able to only get beaten up at school, and not at home as well…life was good.

However, this all changed when Hilary was 17. He and Erland were walking along the road, going to the hospital to fix Hilary's broken arm that he had broken whilst being beaten up, when Hilary's real father Otto drove towards them at terrifying speeds in a truck, knocking them both to the ground.

Hilary escaped with only another broken arm, but Erland was not so lucky. He had severe internal bruising and broke both his legs. Later on in hospital, he died. The last thing he said to Hilary was:

"Son… from now on, you need to be a man…so please…" The man had paused to cough and gasp at the pain Otto's truck had inflicted upon his being "change your name, or at least insist on being referred to by your second name…"

Soon after this, Hilary decided he was not going to be Hilary any more. He would now be…Anderson. It was much manlier.

When the news came, not a week later, that most of his family, including father, were now dead, Anderson decided to move to the country of the only one who had ever cared for him, Norway.

Moving to Oslo was the best move Anderson had made in a while. There, people didn't know what he was saying so they didn't beat him up for lowering their IQ's!

And Norway was where he met the woman of his dreams, Ailin. She was everything he wanted and more. She didn't even care that he could not speak Norwegian, nor could she speak English.

Soon enough, they were married, buying a house together and settling in. Anderson had hoped he had left his dark past behind him. But the happy life could not last forever, as Anderson discovered one winters night.

He had just got home from work (he was an interpreter for a business. Since he didn't know Norwegian, he just pretended to know what they were saying and then made it up to the English people. That way, it was the Norwegians who got the funny looks when he said 'can I see your tools?') Ailin was in the lounge, screaming her head off. When Anderson rushed in, he found his German rapetruck father standing over her with a knife. His face was rotten, one of his eyeballs had fallen out and was hanging by the optic nerve. His clothes were rags and he smelt of rotting flesh.

"Vater… you're a zombie? What?" There was no chance to take this information in; his wife was in danger "Get away from my wife!" But it was too late. Ailin was stabbed 37 times in the chest as Anderson looked on helplessly. He was angry… so angry… for the second time, he had finally managed happiness, and then his father comes back from the grave… Anderson snapped. Before the 38th stab wound could be administered, he leapt at his father, screaming in a totally manly way.

I won't describe to you what happened on that day, just be sure it was full of bloody gore, manly fighting and lots of angst. And zombies, don't forget the zombies.

A week later, Anderson moved back to England and began training as a forensics man. There was where he met his second wife, and settled down with her in London.

There was only one case where his German roots, and therefore his dark past, shone at all. Dubbed 'A Study In Pink'.

"Rache. German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us-" But Anderson was cruelly cut off by Sherlock, the consulting detective. It hurt. To have his feelings so out in the open for once, then having them ripped out, stepped on and burnt like an ice-cream dancing in a toaster.

After this was when he met the love of his life. Well, 'met' probably wasn't the right word. More…was stalked by. Mycroft. Sherlock's elder brother.

He was stunning, like a glittering marble Adonis. And the way he swung that umbrella…God, it was hot.

It wasn't long until they were together.

END FLASHBACK

Mycroft comfortingly patted Anderson's leg as he relayed the tale. By the time he was done, more tears of painful sorrow were leaking from his shining eyes which held so much depressing woe that Mycroft physically recoiled when he looked into them. In a manly way.  
>"My love, I never knew you were hiding so much angst from me! I need to go make us some tea in order to fully absorb all you have told me. You can stay here and be comforted by my love which burns with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns. Here, snuggle this dinosaur," Mycroft passed Anderson a stuffed Dino plushie "I'll be right back, my little liebchen."<p>

With an adoring kiss to the forehead, Mycroft stood, basking in a light that came from nowhere (or maybe there was a hole in the ceiling) for a moment, posing like a manly God before he left and descended the creaky stairs to make a comforting hot drink, his practiced hands efficient in his tea-making.

Meanwhile Hilary was feeling comforted. His one true love had accepted him and his dark past. He snuggled his dinosaur but stopped when he felt the fourth wall beginning to crack slightly from the livejournal reference.

A very short time later, the door opened once more, creaking slightly under the pressure of Mycroft's manliness. He held two cups of tea in his hands, and set them down on the bedside table as he got into bed with Hilary, throwing the dinosaur to the floor as he became the replacement in Anderson's arms.

"Rawr" Mycroft grinned, his pearly white teeth tempting in the moonlight that shone dramatically through the window.

"Rawr to you too"

AND THEN THERE WAS SEX0RZ. LIKE A BOSS.

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A/N: Yes, that's it. I have no excuse. I'm terribly sorry for this badfic but it just wrote itself... blame the fic! Anyway, please review because reviews make my day, seriously. Thanks for reading!

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